"indefatigable" poems
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road----
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
13.2k
I speak in praise of the ******** yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******** is that it's the female's key
to being multiply ******** and frankly, I'm in awe of this.
You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the ********
Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.
Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their ********
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.
You see? Really, I’m envious of the ********
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between *********** and the ********
So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the ********
Truly. A gift for all of us.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
It was not a heart, beating.
That muted boom, that clangor
Far off, not blood in the ears
Drumming up and fever
To impose on the evening.
The noise came from outside:
A metal detonating
Native, evidently, to
These stilled suburbs nobody
Startled at it, though the sound
Shook the ground with its pounding.
It took a root at my coming
Till the thudding shource, exposed,
Counfounded in wept guesswork:
Framed in windows of Main Street's
Silver factory, immense
Hammers hoisted, wheels turning,
Stalled, let fall their vertical
Tonnage of metal and wood;
Stunned in marrow. Men in white
Undershirts circled, tending
Without stop those greased machines,
Tending, without stop, the blunt
Indefatigable fact.
8k
She tends her cactus garden,
beads of perspiration,
works with a maniacal absorption.
One of many visitors she receives
yet looking at each other's eyes
dawned this quick realization;
similar maniacal obsession and passion.
A tornado she was, self created,
in her swirl uprooted
many huge trees, even tombstones
by the sheer force unleashed,
with her poetic flourish.
Love of a crazy woman
with effervescent creative surge,
is a magical portion
brewed by a witch ,
in her forbidden rituals, night after dark night.
Injured by conjugal lust, unrequited
prompted to walk the garden path
holding hands of lovers, one after the other,
who took her to wilderness, deeper and deeper
and at the end to a blind alley,
life was a tribal dance,
from where return was impossible.
She never had to apologize to her mate,
who for all the world to see, remained with her
till he went behind the curtain.
Imagine a life, a walk
through a cactus garden,where sharp thorns would nip,
searing pain and bleeding has its moments of exhilaration.
Life pulsated wildly for her on such notions,
(There were many who walked with her for each adventure)
They met, poetry flowed like wine,
she had a rare warmth seen in women of such creative combinations,
she feared nothing, but her truth made many squirm.
Midnight dances of her and her friends gypsy bunch,
attained such fame.But all ended in a great betrayal,
she was deep down a naive woman,
craving for love, to immerse in it.
On occasions she would change identities
at will, she was one but many
there wasn't any one like her before or after.
They would walk through the witch's cactus patch,
somnambulists reciting poems,
when they are together, in private,
cactus spine criss- crossed his skin
her nail wrote poems on the back
of the lover of the moment,
each one bled like soldiers in combat.
One monsoon night brought
everything to an end,
the cactus garden was trampled by
big grey wolves, the journey
met with an abrupt end.
What is she, cactus herself,
vampire, witch, lover indefatigable,
with the heart of a lion?
Erotomaniacal poetic surge,
yet a fantasy in flesh and blood?
**They buried her
in a cactus garden away from town
not even ten people arrived to mourn,
not even all her lovers, had time that afternoon.
Her songs of pain, pierced hearts and they
still shed tears,
cactus garden, it was---
the metaphor perfected by her life and death.**
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
The smile of the white bloom, in my crown
its fragrance spreads across galaxies of neurons,
none can fully imagine the scene, I haven't seen
it's stellar design baffles humans, resists exploration.
On single file pass days and nights, indefatigable
rainbows are made and unmade, making clouds
blush and hoping for bridges across them,
why, even the universe dances to the tunes we play
Ever at ease, I walk silently past the blue mountains,
of remembrance, mostly love created, a miracle!
At times a poet, a scientist,a cosmologist,or a mystic in solitude
finds the need to "stand and stare"wonder, speaks in metaphors.
Looking st the fireworks sky manages, I hallucinate,
an astronaut I become, who knows nothing about time
one wished to live in timelessness for ever and when,
that dream comes true, loses within and be nothingness.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Jade --
Stone of the side,
The antagonized
Side of green Adam, I
Smile, cross-legged,
Enigmatical,
Shifting my clarities.
So valuable!
How the sun polishes this shoulder!
And should
The moon, my
Indefatigable cousin
Rise, with her cancerous pallors,
Dragging trees --
Little bushy polyps,
Little nets,
My visibilities hide.
I gleam like a mirror.
At this facet the bridegroom arrives
Lord of the mirrors!
It is himself he guides
In among these silk
Screens, these rustling appurtenances.
I breathe, and the mouth
Veil stirs its curtain
My eye
Veil is
A concatenation of rainbows.
I am his.
Even in his
Absence, I
Revolve in my
Sheath of impossibles,
Priceless and quiet
Among these parrakeets, macaws!
O chatterers
Attendants of the eyelash!
I shall unloose
One feather, like the peacock.
Attendants of the lip!
I shall unloose
One note
Shattering
The chandelier
Of air that all day flies
Its crystals
A million ignorants.
Attendants!
Attendants!
And at his next step
I shall unloose
I shall unloose --
From the small jeweled
Doll he guards like a heart --
The lioness,
The shriek in the bath,
The cloak of holes.
5.1k
So it is eighteen years,
Helena, since we met!
A season so endears,
Nor you nor I forget
The fresh young faces that once clove
In that most fiery dawn of love.
We wandered to and fro,
Who knew not how to woo,
Those eighteen years ago,
Sweetheart, when I and you
Exchanged high vows in heaven's sight
That scarce survived a summer's night.
What scourge smote from the stars
What madness from the moon?
That night we broke the bars
Was quintessential June,
When you and I beneath the trees
Bartered our bold virginities.
Eighteen -years, months, or hours?
Time is a tyrant's toy!
Eternal are the flowers!
We are but girl and boy
Yet -since love leapt as swift to-night
As it had never left the light!
For fiercer from the South
Still flames your cruel hair,
And Trojan Helen's mouth
Still not so ripe and rare
As Helena's -nor love nor youth
So leaps with lust or thrills with truth.
Helena, still we hold
Flesh firmer, still we mix
Black hair with hair as gold.
Life has but served to fix
Our hearts; love lingers on the tongue,
And who loves once is always young.
The stars are still the same;
The changeful moon endures;
Come without fear or shame,
And draw my mouth to yours!
Youth fails, however flesh be fain;
Manhood and womanhood attain.
Life is a string of pearls,
And you the first I strung.
You left -first flower of girls! -
Life lyric on my tongue,
An indefatigable dance,
An inexhaustible romance!
Blush of love's dawn, bright bud
That bloomed for my delight,
First blossom of my blood,
Burn in that blood to-night!
Helena, Helena, fiercely fresh,
Your flesh flies fervent to my flesh.
What sage can dare impugn
Man's immortality?
Our godhead swims, immune
From death and destiny.
Ignored the bubble in the flow
Of love eighteen short years ago!
Time -I embrace all time
As my arm rings your waist.
Space -you surpass, sublime,
As, taking me, we taste
Omnipotence, sense slaying sense,
Soul slaying soul, omniscience.
4.4k
Nothing happens by serendipity
Dutifully marched
Indefatigable ants
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
Every dawn is a nexus, /
Every twilight is a beckoning; therefore, /
Embrace the fickle future /
Ensconscing within the sacral oath /
Of a thousand words: /
These utterances shall envelop you /
When upon Triumphal Arcadian Skies /
We meet again. /
Save your tears, /
For love shall reign /
From the empyreal aethers above /
To the Gaian epidermis of /
The Magnanimous Matriarch; moreover, the mellifluous kisses /
Of The Sovereign of Songbirds /
Will burgeon within, /
Will descend upon you as The Holy Dove. /
Unfurl your third eye, /
See with an indefatigable clarity /
All that you were meant to be: /
Strong, Wise, Just; /
Love; /
A luminary fulminating /
Radiantly, resplendently upon /
The Denizens of the Terrene. /
(—Se' lah)
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 12:00 AM UTC
He is my least favorite vegetable.
No amount or level of preparation makes him taste better:
Boiling-
brings out his bulbous, insipid ego
the texture of his flamboyant ignorance.
when I timorously sip him in soups or broths,
his oozing insidious misogyny
contaminates my blissful dining, contorts any ingredients still pure.
I fry him, striving to remove the
excess of impertinence which
permeates the oxygen I feebly inhale.
but he evades my maneuvers:
usurps bliss and violates all semblance of tranquility
I cannot prevail
against the throb of his assaulting narcissism
I must instead attempt
to comment
(arduously, fraudulently)
on the delicate iridescence of his silkily mucoused membranes
and admire deftly
his indefatigable ventures to pervade my
every.
serenity.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
SuzAnne, nee Christine
Irascible, Incorrigible, Indefatigable, Affable
Adopted sister of Doug and Mike and sort of Jill
Lover of ideas and stances
Who fears laryngitis and deafness
Who needs music and malleability
Who gives grades and advice
Who would like to see Firenze and the Pyramids of Giza
Who lives in Hot Water
Wilson, nee Doe
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
they say god is perfect.
that holds true for me, too.
no concept contains me in totality.
Stirner wrestled with the undefinable:
an indefatigable Unique,
anarchic,
lacking category.
Camus perhaps said it best,
"i rebel, therefore i exist."
i strive to personify resistance.
i find the answers
in harmony with Counterparts,
defining *The Difference
Between Hell
and Home*:
"i am what i am
and i am an outcast."
an outlaw,
a nobody
akin to Nietzsche,
returning infinitely—
stretched like so many grains of sand
on time's flat surface, orbiting
eternally around the creative Nothing
at half-past 3:00 in the morning.
a singularity,
deconstructing
Derrida's Différance.
a nomad on the margins,
wandering aimlessly,
roaming perpetually
with Deleuze and Foucault,
an astronaut arranged
along the endless frontiers
of an ever-expanding cosmos.
Vonnegut recognized
the periphery affords
a radical view
to the few who choose
to embrace that which cannot be Known.
a zero-sum game
between Death and me,
staving off manic-depressive ennui
if only momentarily.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
My indefatigable soul
Patiently waits for its mate.
The many years gone by....
Would not at all matter to me.
Faces come and go,
Changes occur without a warning...
It could be now, or tomorrow,
It could be much much later.
At this point in my life,
My soul is not to be discouraged...
My soul cannot be disheartened.
So long as there's breath within me,
Patiently, it would wait for its mate....
My indefatigable soul.......
(Some lyrical spur(ts) of the moment....from long ago..)
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
(a tribute to all mothers)
When loved ones go ahead of us,
people say, "They're home,
in a better place, safe from harm...."
When a child's life is cut short,
it is most often said, he, or she is "...better off that way
better dead... saved from hovering perils..."
and more comforting words
spoken softly......repeatedly
to help us cope with loss, with sorrow.
But, a mother in pain...bereft...defiant.. still asks:
"Who are we to say, a child is safer,
away from his, or her mother's loving care?"
a mother's love knows no bounds,
she would keep watch, with a vulture's eyes
until her sick child makes it through the night
she would climb any mountain
brave all that would stand in her way
just to keep her child safe, happy and contented
The life of her child is all that matters to her.
A mother feels a stab on her chest
when her child refuses her love and care
and chooses to stay away from home
how could a mother be inflicted with such immeasurable pain?
she dies a thousand times
her suffering heart is soaked in tears
it comes to a point when she cries without tears,
because, she loves without questions asked
she loves without complaining
because,
a mother's love is unconditional
a mother's love is an ocean...unfathomable
A mother's grieving heart could sometimes be blind,
in denial...cold...stubborn, in her non-acceptance,
though weary, she appears to be indefatigable,
never surrenders
even as she tries to walk on the water
even as she tries to walk, amidst the crowd...
(December 24, 2014)
Sally
Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
Years have been passing by, my darling...
You are still the first thing that enters my mind when I wake up,
and it gives me a glimmer of hope
every time I hear my telephone ring,
even though I told you to never call again.
You dared to send me an apology letter and I considered setting it on fire because it made me think about you much more than I should have.
*When I said “Forever,”
I meant it.*
Our last encounter has lingered in my mind like an ocean wave crashing onto the shore,
grasping for land in one last fleeting attempt to not be swept away with the rest of the tide.
Our love may have died,
but my memories of you and I are indefatigable.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
creeping fingers,
crawling hands,
innocent at first--
innocent? not likely--
malicious more like.
the purity of your
polystyrene soul,
the unremitting cleanse,
the repent(the chase),
it's your lifeline. the
shocked look, saccharine power
held over tiny fawn--
****** clarity as they might,
oh dear incubus.
the power to end all
held in tiny fists.
this births not demon babes,
but a century of fear
and inadequacy.
downy kittens hardwired with
an inevitable self-destruct.
bring the world to it's knees,
incessant, indefatigable pathogen,
taking grasp of neurons, synapses.
good intentions yearned for the green light
while yours-- red as the blood rose
manifests in lovely lips
for eternity stained with **** wine--
the wine you brewed, you fermented
in the cellar of ********** and hatred.
the father, the son, and the holy spirit,
and the things that lie between.
blessed fingers, blessed breath
freezes as the stiff arms of your diocese.
hushed catholic whisper, angels to never
nearly achieve their wholly holy grail--
your kryptonite. secret looks, hasty deliverance,
catharsis.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Fresh from his fastnesses
Wholesome and spacious,
The North Wind, the mad huntsman,
Halloas on his white hounds
Over the grey, roaring
Reaches and ridges,
The forest of ocean,
The chace of the world.
Hark to the peal
Of the pack in full cry,
As he thongs them before him,
Swarming voluminous,
Weltering, wide-wallowing,
Till in a ruining
Chaos of energy,
Hurled on their quarry,
They crash into foam!
Old Indefatigable,
Time's right-hand man, the sea
Laughs as in joy
From his millions of wrinkles:
Laughs that his destiny,
Great with the greatness
Of triumphing order,
Shows as a dwarf
By the strength of his heart
And the might of his hands.
Master of masters,
O maker of heroes,
Thunder the brave,
Irresistible message:--
'Life is worth Living
Through every grain of it,
From the foundations
To the last edge
Of the cornerstone, death.'
1.3k
"Arab Chickens"* are like
Imaginations:
Indefatigable measurers
Of length and breadth
Where color, choice,
And depth
Are manifestations of the surface.
©LazharBouazzi, Carthage, March1, 2017. Re-revised, March 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 7:59 AM UTC
A wild rider through the prairies of life, extending to far horizons,
in my veins the true spirit of intergalactic nomads, stardust,
from many past lives brims; it sets the tone of my enduring quest.
My indefatigable steed, and me are one in our thoughts and heart.
Through her changing hues and moods, nature speaks to me, inspires
drenched in moon beams, to the uplands we would traverse,
then come the slopes descending to deep pits and dark hollows,
my prairie homestead, tucked away in that valley distant,to me
is a dream mysterious; dense solitude keeps it for me as a secret.
A miraculous herb, I found by chance, among the flora rich,
keeps thirst and hunger at bay, and the quest continues unhindered,
low hanging fat, white, clouds change the display in varied forms,
to regale us as we cross the badlands, that try to bog us down in vein.
Love caressed me at times,like gentle wind,once a whirlwind
made me lose bearing,with a thorn made a slash across my heart,
love is a sweet pain, but losing a beloved, a crusted ugly scar,
but the traveler is in a trance, still led by the pole star's lonely light,
The bows and arrows I destroyed after long introspection,
herds of bison as I pass would notice,see me empty handed,
stand still as if in a guard of honor, to watch me pass with a smile
Still night, embellished by starlight, sung lullabies to us weary souls.
my steed and I go diving deep,hungrily in to the pool of sleep
**Sleep, wakefulness, day and night; all encased within a dream.
I, my steed and the lives the prairie embraces, and the galaxy are one.**
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
we are selcouth flower petals on plants that never considered their pots would be moved from their infinitesimal places on the windowsill
when the leaves brushed, a strange ebullience of euphoria erupted in misshapen fireworks displays
the radiance was blinding, but provided a pain that oddly pleasurable
vines amalgamate and coalesce still, twining together and combining with strangled whispers
amatory acts and emotions permeate the petrichor of distance, and the indefatigable thoughts continue strongly
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
Swanky sauntering swagger of a sashay. Verve’s chutzpah, moxie savvy's panache, dexterously agile acuity. Articulate coordinated excellence and prowess’s talented exceptional. Objectified manifest's eidetic prospectus's invertible investiture's infinite possibilities perpetrate incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology!
Intrepid intuitive intrigue, mystical magical multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis. Malfeasance evocative tout, execrating eventuation evocative expletives, executant tour de force entelechy's apotheosis. Ne plus ultra irrefragable opulence, erudite illuminism numinous piquant poignancy. Dynamic livid lurid vagile puissance. Lucid orotund sonorous fecund resilience.
Eloquent exuberance felicitous transcendent epiphany. Nuance tactile audacious preternatural metaphysical clairvoyant imperative. Augur quantum ominous avant-garde profundity, virulent vivid indomitably indefatigable cogent fatidic, quintessential deft. Celerity innovative veracious metamorphic, adroit nimble avid austere.
Fulgurous astute atman clever crafty rapacious sagacious. Effulgent zealous fastuous temerity machismo enunciation diction, imperative repartee. Exserted protuberance educement proclivities succinctly ostentatious. Ardent arduous inductive adamant incursion ostensible hornswoggling swashbuckler!
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC
I hear him /
I see him /
I fathom him /
From afar /
Knowing that love looms over the horizon. /
He gives me the wings to soar /
Into the dreamscape /
There I find stillness, heartsease & the resplendant, radiant moonbeams /
The mellifluous musicality /
—He spirits me away./
La voce de la luce, /
La voce de la luce, /
Miramos, /
Escuchamos, /
A la voce de la luce. /
What do you /
See /
When you look at me? /
What do you /
See? /
I see a cosmos: /
I see the moon, the sun, the stars, /
A luminary, I see the trajectory /
The path of someone doubtless, /
Of someone indefatigable. /
Wombed skies, the aethers, /
Someone, something, /
So pristine, crystalline, intemerate, /
Unmatched, in formosity. /
—It's you. /
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 8:59 PM UTC
even the dullest of knives
can **** —
a smile has fallen deep into
the silence.
wincing on and off
like terrible vertigo.
it is you lashing across
dispersing images
seeping like ruthless mileage
underneath the bone.
you come in the room
full of these hours splintered
an outpour with a foreboding,
like spindrift you wet my lips
sealed shut and silence
is all the language i understand.
what good is there that this hungry
cavalcade gapes its mouth
and metastasizes like an opulent
laugh as maniacal as drum-taps?
your are river with feet or pond
sprawling mad, enigmatical.
is this the clearing motes depart,
unhinging the crepuscular
and fade out, as a cat shrieks tumbling writhing fornication of metal and rust?
even sleep cannot manage such realness,
and the doubleness of its comatose
or say, a war in spite of its radical
artillery. between two cities lost,
its indefatigable exertion pullulates
to a hand, laying garlands
over the same blue lament of sky
and the unawakened orioles.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
Late at night I lie with blinds drawn back
Night drifts just beyond a thin piece of glass,
it drifts too far from reach.
I wish I were outside in it, but watch it I will.
Street lights guide empty roads, impatient, they wait for the air of morning.
I am for once alone in an undisturbed solitude.
Each ticking moment,
from the peaking hour of our brightest stars to the resting streetlights and pale blue air,
Runs through me indefatigable.
Slowly I turn into a new person as the people and day fade to nothing
Slowly I become more.
The moon cascades light into my room,
it presses its face close to the glass
Both present we are alone.
I consciously listen as my mind wanders.
I am still here, not dreaming.
It is at the death of each day,
far past midnight, words drip onto the white page.
They are not shy nor afraid of displaying their truth.
The moon is empty of judgement.
When the brisk daylight arrives I will cover myself.
When the birds songs ring through dawn
I begin dying again among the life of everything.
But for now in the depth of silence and stillness,
I shall bare myself.
For the night invites such comforting warmth,
I unclothe my thoughts
For the night invites such comforting warmth,
I do not sleep.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC